


Take It

by ficsandcatsandficsandcats



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats
Summary: Reader Request: “I wanna fuck you up against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it.”
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Kudos: 30





	Take It

Going undercover at a brothel had so far been less exciting than you’d hoped. True, you hadn’t wanted to have your secret identity put to the test by the clientele that roamed the parlor looking to spend some coin. But you had hoped that it might inspire your companion to play a little harder at his role, pretending to be your – oh what was the term he made you call him – Liaison. Jaskier had declared the word pimp as unworthy of the performance he would put on. If he was going to be a pimp, he was going to be King Pimp, the most ruthless and domineering. He switched out his usual richly colored attire for an all-black ensemble that sharpened his features and his eyes nearly glowed in contrast to the dark fabric. He kept a hand wrapped around your waist or your hand at all times, giving you comforting little squeezes occasionally. You thought it was sweet how worried he was for you. He’d been concerned from the start that you would feel uncomfortable, with the setting and the role you’d agreed to play. In truth you were having a blast. You’d already learned a great deal from the women who worked there, both for the case they were investigating and some things she would have to attempt with someone alone later. Ideally Jaskier. The scarlet dress you wore was somewhat Grecian inspired, loose and flowing but tied to accentuate your curves. You were done milling around collecting information and the two of you just needed to pass the rest of the night until it was time to meet up with Geralt.

“How are you doing?” Jaskier asked, whispering the question into your ear.

“A little bored actually,” you admitted. He gave an incredulous laugh.

“Only you would be bored in a place such as this,” he said.

“Well it’s not like I can go engage in the entertainment. You could, though,” you say, throwing the offer out there though you immediately cursed yourself for it, unsure what you would do if he agreed and went to one of the many beautiful women who’d been sending him signals of interest all night. He shook his head and shrugged.

“Nah, not interested,” he said.

“Oh come on,” you said disbelievingly, “This must be like catnip for you. And no Geralt to tell you not to wander off or get into trouble either.”

He looked up at you and the playful smile left his lips, the look on his face different, more serious.

“There is only one person in this place I find tempting,” he said meaningfully. His fingers brushed against your wrist and then wrapped around it, more possessive than protective. Your throat went dry as you considered his words and he waited patiently, reading your face for your reaction but ultimately waiting to hear your response.

“You know, Jaskier, I don’t know if I’m being convincing enough in my role,” you say. He smirks and presses you a bit closer.

“Do you want to play the whore, y/n?” he asks, the words breathless and husky.

“Yes,” you answer, the quickest you’ve ever replied, his words inspiring a need greater than you’ve ever felt before. Jaskier looks around the parlor you’ve walked into. It’s a mostly private place, clearly intended for entertainment. But there is a hint of voyeurism to it, the large glass windows that have been tinted still leave little to the imagination when the spectator can see the shapes of the bodies

inside.

“If we do this, we need to establish some things right now. If I do anything you don’t like, you tell me. I don’t care what we’re doing, the moment you don’t want it anymore it’s done. Also, you can’t call me by my name because we’re technically not ourselves here. What would you like to call me?” he asks.

“Sir,” you answer quickly. He smiles approvingly.

“Good. What would you like me to call you?” he asks. That takes you a bit longer. When you imagined this moment with him in the past you always heard him calling out your name. He sees that you’re struggling to come up with an answer.

“What about ‘love’?” he asks. A wide smile breaks across your face.

“Yes,” you agree, “Yes I’d like that.”

He smiles back at you and brushes his fingers across your cheek tenderly.

“Alright, love, get on your knees like the good whore you are,” he says the words in honeyed tones and you’re stunned by the effect they have on you. You obediently lower to the ground and he watches you fondly and sternly as you unlace the trousers, pulling them away quickly. He is already hard and ready for you and you trace your fingers along the veins, pulling a sharp gasp from his lips. The sound encourages you and you wrap your hand around it, exploring his length with slow, long strokes, rubbing your thumb along the head. His hand goes to your head and he brushes it through your hair softly a couple of times before seizing a handful of curls. You look up at him, y/e/c meeting blue, and keep eye contact as you gently run your tongue up the side of his cock. You take him in your mouth, sliding each inch past your mouth until you can go no further, one hand wrapped around the shaft. The hand in your hair spurs you faster and you eagerly comply. He whispers words of encouragement, degrading and praising in equal measure, all to your delight, each word making you press your thighs together tighter, your arousal heightening with each hard won moan. He pulls you off of him suddenly and half-pulls, half-lowers until you meet in the middle, his mouth hungrily devouring yours. He keeps the kiss going as he pulls you both up to your feet, walking you across the room, mouth dipping lower to your breasts which easily fall out of the loose garment. He presses you against the glass window and continues to caress and stroke your breasts with his mouth, his tongue coaxing the hard nipples until your moans fall away to gasps. He spins you around, placing your hands against the glass which is cold against your overheated skin. Your skirt is hiked up and you feel him press the hard head of his cock against the folds.

“Fuck you’re so wet for me, you’re such a good whore for me, love,” he murmurs into your neck, soft words punctuated by his teeth grazing and nibbling at its crook.

“Who do you belong to, love?” he asks.

“You,” you answer, pressing against him, trying to bridge the distance between your bodies.

“Who?” he growls.

“You, Sir,” you say. He rewards your obedience, lowering a hand to stroke and cajole you, checking to ensure that you’re ready for him.

“ **I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it** ,” he murmurs, “Do you want that?”

“Yes, yes, please just fucking fuck me,” you exclaim, pushed past your limit.

You feel the head slip in with ease but he goes slowly, torturing you by giving you more and then pausing, testing your patience and obedience. He can feel your thighs trembling and the slick mess you’ve become under him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, love, all for me,” he whispers into your kiss as he finally thrusts into you fully, filling you and causing your fingers to scrape and clench against the glass. There are no more words for some time, language lost to feeling as he drives into you, a steady pace, pushing you both towards a point of no return.

“Can I – fuck – I’m going to – ” your words, half swallowed by moans, are understood by Jaskier and he thrusts into you a bit faster, working hard to stave off his own climax, determined to make you reach your own.

“Come for me, love, I want to feel it, I want to feel you,” he murmurs the words encouragingly until a strangled sob escapes your throat and he can feel you clench around him, the sensation pushing him to his own release. He bites down on your shoulder to stifle the sound and you pray it leaves a mark. When he pulls out of you he turns you back around to face him and leans his forehead on yours, both taking a moment to catch your breath and staring at each other, half-adoring, half-incredulous.

“Brava,” he breathes, kissing the corner of your mouth, “A performance worthy of a King.”

“No,” you argue, your nose brushing against his gently as you shake your head and then return your gaze to his, “Just for you.”


End file.
